


bittersweet between my teeth

by blackkat



Series: Feemor prompts [6]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Escape, Friendship, Friendship Via Explosions, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28216551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: This isn't his Master Dooku.Feemor swallows a little, trying not to let his fear show as Dooku goes down on one knee in front of him, gripping his shoulders. There's concern in his face, and helooksthe same, but it’s like there's a thin sheen of oil over what should be familiar. The grip of his hands makes Feemor's heart pound, and itshouldn’t, but it does, and Feemor might be barely thirteen, not even a padawan yet, but he knows about trusting the Force, and the Force is saying something iswrong.
Relationships: Alpha-17 & Feemor (Star Wars)
Series: Feemor prompts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941688
Comments: 38
Kudos: 600





	bittersweet between my teeth

This isn't his Master Dooku.

Feemor swallows a little, trying not to let his fear show as Dooku goes down on one knee in front of him, gripping his shoulders. There's concern in his face, and he _looks_ the same, but it’s like there's a thin sheen of oil over what should be familiar. The grip of his hands makes Feemor's heart pound, and it shouldn’t, but it _does_ , and Feemor might be barely thirteen, not even a padawan yet, but he knows about trusting the Force, and the Force is saying something is _wrong_.

There's another boy behind Dooku, a Human with curly black hair, but one of the droid guards has him by the back of the neck, pinning him in place. He’s _angry_ , angry in a way that vibrates through Feemor's bones, but he’s scared, too. Feemor meets his eyes over Dooku's shoulder, sees the look there, and takes a breath.

“My boy,” Dooku says, and it should be gentle. It should be _kind_ , because Feemor's interacted with Dooku before and that’s how he always is. But—there's something dark about it, like an edge of greed that Feemor can't _quite_ sense but knows is there regardless. “You had us quite worried, disappearing like that. It’s been almost a month.”

Feemor isn't entirely sure how he got here. He woke up in the forest outside the castle, and the droids found him right afterwards, but before that—before that he was in the Temple, in the crèche, getting ready for a lightsaber lesson with Master Ti. Thinking, desperately, that maybe this time he could impress one of the Masters enough to get chosen as a padawan, even if he knows it doesn’t usually happen like that.

“Sorry, Master Dooku,” he says quickly, and Dooku's hands tighten on his shoulders, send unease crawling up his spine.

“That’s quite all right, Feemor,” Dooku says. “Much has changed while you were gone, however, and I'm glad you're safe.” He squeezes, then rises to his feet, keeping one hand on Feemor's shoulder as he turns towards the door of the castle. Feemor watches his gaze flicker to the other boy, and Dooku's expression darkens. Just a little, but—

Enough.

“Take him out to the forest and let him go,” Dooku orders the droid, and it _could_ be a kind gesture, but from the way the boy’s eyes widen, it’s not. He’s smeared with mud, and his red shirt has a rip in one sleeve that shows blood underneath, and Feemor woke up in a relatively secluded place without any wildlife, but—

But, Feemor thinks, and meets his gaze again. Sees the boy’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow warily, and Feemor looks up at the droid, over at Dooku, and finds his gaze catching on Dooku's lightsaber.

Feemor swallows, but puts a hand up, clutching at Dooku's heavy cloak. “Master,” he says. “I don’t remember how I get here.”

Dooku pats his shoulder, though he doesn’t so much as look down at him. “That’s quite all right, child. It’s not safe for you to go back to the Temple right now, but you can stay here with me.”

The edge of something dark is in those words, too, and Feemor breathes in, breathes out. “All right,” he says, just as the droid takes a step back, hauling the boy with it. The boy _snarls_ , twists and jerks and fights, and Dooku glances over with distaste rising on his face—

Feemor snatches the lightsaber from his belt and lunges. It’s not _right_ , because the crystal is screaming, and it’s _painful_ , awful, grates at every sense, but Feemor ignites it in a wash of red, sets his feet just the way Master Yoda taught them when facing a bigger opponent, and drives the blade forward through metal.

Instantly, the other droids around the room lurch into motion, blasters rising. Dooku curses, spins to follow, and Feemor puts his body between Dooku and the stolen lightsaber, grabs the other boy—

Hits the ground as the boy tackles him, half an instant before a blaster bolt cuts through the space where their heads just were.

“Are you _stupid_ ,” the other boy demands, rolling to his feet and dragging Feemor up with him. “Don’t just _stand_ there—”

“I'm _not_!” Feemor protests, and proves it by grabbing the boy’s hand and bolting for the hallway behind them. There's a shout of his name, running steps, but Feemor doesn’t look back, hauling the other boy sideways down another corridor and right to a set of narrow stairs. They clatter down them, and there’s a droid just rounding the corner at the bottom of them, but Feemor shoves out a hand, throws it back into the wall hard enough to dent stone, and the boy hanging onto him makes a loud, victorious sound.

“You're a _Jedi_!” he says, halfway between accusation and revelation, and turns, dragging Feemor down a short side corridor and into a wide room with a holoprojector and a stained-glass window. As soon as the door closes, he pulls Feemor around to point at the control panel, and orders, “Break that.”

Feemor ignites the lightsaber again, wincing when the crystal’s screams redouble. It’s _bleeding_ , bleeding red instead of the blue it should be, and Feemor can feel the way it’s been twisted, corrupted, _broken_. He swallows hard against the nausea, but slashes the blade down across the panel in a spray of sparks, destroying it.

“We need to leave,” he says, and lets the blade die, closing his hand around the hilt. “Master Dooku—he’s not _right_.”

“He’s an asshole,” the boy mutters, but he gives Feemor a narrow look and then says abruptly, “I'm Alpha-17.”

It’s an odd name, but Feemor isn't about to _say_ that. “I'm Feemor,” he returns politely, and looks down at Dooku's lightsaber again. Glances up, towards the holoprojector, and says, “We can call for help, maybe.”

Something faintly relieved flickers across Alpha-17’s face, even as he scoffs—

With a booming crash, the doors dent.

Feemor yelps, and without pause Alpha grabs his hand again, drags him forward at a dead run and out the side door, then down a long, twisting corridor, making turns every time the path splits. There are metal feet behind them, and Feemor feels a surge of fear, of alarm, of _awareness_ , and pulls Alpha-17 sideways and out onto the top of the wall surrounding the castle.

“Not the woods!” Alpha-17 says. “There are dire-cats, we’ll get _eaten—_ ”

With a flicker of despair, Feemor comes to a sharp halt, looking around. “Then _where_?” he asks, and—if they can get back to the Jedi Temple, they’ll be safe, but he has no idea where in the galaxy they even are, and Dooku's lightsaber is still screaming in his hand.

Alpha-17’s hand tightens around his, and he looks around them, then takes a breath. “Over there,” he says, and points towards a staircase at the end of the wall. “I can fly a speeder. If you're not going to _cry_ or something.”

Feemor rolls his eyes, but doesn’t let go of Alpha-17’s hand. “I'm not going to cry,” he says. “There’s just something wrong with Master Dooku's lightsaber and it _hurts_.”

Alpha-17 casts him a surprised look, then flicks a glance down at the hilt. “Can you fix it?” he asks dubiously.

Feemor pauses, startled, and looks at it as well. And—he can do a bit of healing. They’ve been having lessons on it these last few weeks. He’s just…never thought of applying healing to a kyber crystal.

“Yes,” he says determinedly, and casts Alpha-17 a bright, relieved smile. “I can, you're right.”

Alpha-17 is staring at him, a look on his face like Feemor just smacked him. Then, sharply, he jerks around, tightens his grip on Feemor, and drags him forward at a run. “I guess you're not _completely_ useless, then,” he says, just a little too loudly.

Feemor rolls his eyes, but can't help a smile. “If we can find the kitchen or a storeroom, I know how to make flour into a bomb,” he says, like a peace offering.

Alpha-17 pauses, glancing back at this time, and the look on his face is suddenly twice as interested, with an edge of a smirk. “A _bomb_?” he repeats, and they take the stairs down as fast as they can manage. “I can rig a power cell into a detonator if we can get one of the those droids’ blasters.”

Feemor curls his hand tighter around Dooku's lightsaber and nods firmly. “Let’s go,” he says, and Alpha-17 hauls him forward at a run, heading down.


End file.
